September 17, 2007 – Kabul Luxuries (11/08/07)

One early morning in September, I saw two poor women in burqas walking along the center divide of a busy, rush hour Kabul city street. I watched them through my car window, which was like a sudden prism into a day in their lives.

Something about that moment was unusual and affected me deeply. I couldn’t tell the women’s age – they were covered in the light blue cloth of the burqa. But I noticed one of the women’s shoes and my eye became fixed on black lace at the fringe of her pant leg.

As she walked slightly ahead of my car with her friend, also dressed in the same light blue, I wondered what kind of life she led. She walked with confidence. She walked with dignity.

She was poor, so poor, but the dust bathing the street didn’t seem to touch her. Her black shoes were clean.

I wondered how much her shoes cost, if she had bought them herself, whether her husband had a job and treated her well.

As my car began to move forward again, I remembered that I had some Afghani notes in my wallet. I hastily pulled the notes out and looked back to find the women as my car came to rest at the intersection.

It was rush hour in Kabul – 7:50 in the morning. The traffic officer waving his reflector wand on the center island looked serious.

The women were suddenly nowhere in sight down the street. I put my money away. I thought about the busy intersection, the day ahead. I checked my watch – it was getting late.

Where did the women go? Perhaps they had crossed to the sidewalk. I thought about the burqa and black lace, of conformity and self-expression.

My thoughts turned to the unseen poor in the world. In the midst of oppression, the magic of human dignity allows them small luxuries, partially hidden from view, but remembered for a lifetime.